Engagement
by DagonSt
Summary: In which Klaus thinks he's getting married. June 2002.


Marriage was really only an extension of his family duties. He supposed he was fortunate - Anna was young, pretty, pleasant. She'd shown no inclination to burden him with her own extended family. The Schloss, admittedly old-fashioned and sometimes drafty, did not appear to bother her. His father approved. Klaus suspected that fifteen years of ignoring hints, introductions and outright orders had made that easier.

Perhaps most importantly, she knew how to deal with the social customs that only irritated him when he was even aware of their existence. She knew, for example, that they were supposed to hold a party to announce their engagement. The only input required of him was the guest list. He turned over the list from last year's Christmas party and nodded vaguely at her suggestion that he add some people from his work. Mischa, he thought, would make an interesting addition. And it might stop his comments about Klaus and that goddamned pervert Eroica. But if the German government would let him in, the Russians wouldn't let him out.

"Dorian Red Gloria," he said aloud.

Anna looked up from her invitations. "A friend?"

"A contractor. We've worked together." And, he reasoned, Eroica would find out one way or another, and was more likely to come if he weren't invited than if he were.

"'And guest'?"

"God, no."

* * *

The morning of the party, Klaus never really woke up. He still felt sluggish after three cups of coffee, and when he went for a fourth A sent Z over to intercept him. He wondered if they were going to try to stop him smoking next, and threw the cup at B before retreating to his office and slamming the door. And even after that, Z had the temerity to suggest he take the rest of the day off sick.

He stayed anyway, on the off chance that some urgent mission would cross his desk before five. The stack of files filled with urgent paperwork from the Alphabets' last mission earned only a blank stare, not its usual honest hatred. Then Klaus pulled it over wearily and began filling out reports.

The party was no better. Worse, because these idiots wouldn't know to duck if he threw something and there were so many of them. All important, and therefore entirely ridiculous. Klaus went though the introductions mechanically and occasionally remembered to smile. The whole thing seemed to be happening to someone else and very far away. That person gave the first toast and kissed his fiance only briefly, to avoid transmitting his illness. It was really over very quickly. He bolted a second glass of champagne and somehow insulted a deputy ambassador before realizing it would be best if he simply went to bed and walking out. On an impulse he went past the staircase, taking a side door out into the gardens.

The tall windows cast some dim glow into the yard, so he could see just to the pavilion, standing tall and white. It needed another coat of paint, and perhaps that would be done this summer. He walked past it, into the gardens that were not quite a maze in the dark, and blessedly still, the only sounds his own clumsy movements. And if the world were no closer, it mattered less out here; plants didn't demand nearly as much as people. And at least he could feel the cold. He found one of the fountains, installed in the last century by an ancestor who admired the French king's waterworks, and sat against the low wall to collect himself. Even the water was silent, off for the night. Klaus sighed and closed his eyes. By rights he should be asleep, so this was time stolen, free from duty to country or family. He was so rarely alone now, even missions were rarer, and he couldn't remember the last time he had been away. Even his fever seemed to dissipate and though he could not sleep, he found no convincing reason to leave. Tipped his head back instead to look at the black, empty sky.

His peace was disturbed by the soft crunching of someone trying to walk quietly on gravel, just audible on the loose-packed gravel. Not a woman. Not his father. Klaus didn't move, because he was so very tired and a little drunk and it was just possible that it wasn't someone looking for him. That it wasn't someone who could find him. But soon enough the sound stopped and he knew if he looked up someone would be there. Silence again, more conspicuous because now it was someone being silent. Klaus finally raised his head. Dorian, in cream and pale, pale in the shadows. Tilting his head to the side, obviously wondering why the host was sitting out here alone in the dark and cold. And very possibly only coming to join him because he'd been seen.

"Eroica. I can not believe you are trying to sneak around in that. It -" glows. Discreet, for Lord Gloria. But a thief's nightmare.

"I wasn't sneaking, Major," the thief replied, looking down at him and sipping at a champagne glass. "You invited me." Klaus remembered then, shrugged. Eroica decided he needed more prodding, and sat next to him. Close enough to be almost touching, and if Klaus acknowledged it, he'd have to hit the idiot for doing it. "They said you were already in bed."

"Too hot in there," he said eventually. "Needed air." Dorian leaned over, pressed a cool hand to his forehead. As though he had some right. After a moment Klaus shook it off and hunched forward. "Let me alone."

"I came to congratulate you," Dorian murmured, sitting back.

"Thank you." Now go away. Fucking queer... But he didn't say it. And thought vaguely of seeing a doctor, because when was the last time he didn't feel up to starting a fight with Lord Gloria?

And Dorian kept watching him. "Klaus? You look...like you were in Alaska," he offered, tentative. Even Klaus could tell it wasn't meant to be a compliment. God knows what, coming from Eroica.

"Sick. Some fever."

Eroica bit his lip, and then pressed on. "Miserable," he whispered. "and isolated. Cold."

Klaus looked over at that, meeting the thief's eyes. "That is what you want to see." Then Dorian touched him again, and that clear blue gaze held his as Eroica lightly searched his face. Klaus submitted to the scrutiny, thinking almost academically that Dorian would realize now that there was nothing in him worth stealing. Tonight, out here alone, there was nothing to him at all. The deft fingertips just grazed his lips, rising to brush the hair away from his face. And Dorian still watched, so earnest and expectant that Klaus closed his eyes, unwilling to see his disappointment. Waiting for him to go away.

And so he was unprepared when Dorian kissed him, gentle but firm, tangling those long fingers into his hair. Instinctively Klaus pulled the slim body closer, shivering at the sudden sensation of warmth, nearly as foreign as Dorian himself, of whom Klaus so often found it easier not to think.

Which he was very carefully not doing now, leaning back against the wall. Eyes still closed, but he could hardly mistake the scent of roses. Schloss Eberbach's gardens had not had roses in more than five years, for just that reason.

Dorian squirmed, and Klaus gripped him tighter, unwilling to let the thief loose and lose his warmth, to let Eroica do who knows what other perverted things to him. This didn't feel wrong as much as awkward. As if they didn't quite fit together, or neither of them was quite sure how, and... well, very much like he was sitting out in the middle of a garden at night in February. He shuddered again, thrust Dorian back to arms length. Dorian stayed there. They looked at each other again.

The sudden chill of his absence brought Klaus back to himself and he started to grope for the necessary words. //_Cannot. Shouldn't have let this happen. Impossible. So very, very sorry..._// He stumbled through the lines, annoyed that he had to apologize at all.

"Klaus, you - _Idiot!_" Dorian bit his lip, quieter. "Both of us, maybe." Klaus lit a cigarette with hands that only trembled a little, and offered him the pack, letting that point pass unchallenged. Dorian took it, turned it over in his hand.

Klaus dropped his head into his hands. "This was never going to happen."

Dorian made an exasperated sound. "Go to bed, Major Eberbach. You'll feel better in the morning. Be able to face all your relations. Pretend it never did."

"I could beat you to a pulp. That would make me feel better." It was probably even true.

"You aren't very inventive when you're sick. How's this? You could be honest with yourself. And that pretty girl you're going to marry."

"You assume a lot, Lord Gloria. I am not myself tonight."

Dorian looked at him again, still fidgeting with the cigarettes and a little glad to be too far away to be hit. "You're not what they think you are. That's a different thing."

"Gott. Will you stop? Just - stop."

Dorian peered at him again, then sighed. "It might even be kinder..."

Klaus closed his eyes again, inhaled deeply. Let it out. "I hate you, Lord Gloria. Very much."

The response, so typical of the Major, made Dorian smile. Very, very thinly. "I... I don't blame you. I only meant to..." He sighed, his intent beside the point because Klaus wasn't even blaming him. Later he might think that a very large step forward indeed. He stood to go, and then paused, because to leave Major Eberbach like this would be even worse than kissing him like _that_ on the night of his engagement.

Klaus raised his head. Dorian, eyes wide and tilting his head to the side, curious and worried. He stared dully for a moment, too drained to deal with this. "Let me alone," he whispered, and wished it sounded more like an order.

Eroica knelt beside him, swept off the cloak he'd worn and wrapped it swiftly around the Major before he had a chance to resist. "You ought to take better care of yourself, darling," he sighed. "I... If you need anything? Just call, Klaus..." He stood there a moment longer, hesitating, and then strode away.

The Earl's footsteps died a minute later, when his course took him off the gravel path. Klaus shivered under the impromptu blanket. Its borrowed warmth would fade as quickly, and leave him colder than before. But, just for now, he could not muster the strength to cast it off.


End file.
